


No one sings like you anymore

by Tentaculiferous



Category: The Lorax (2012), The Lorax - Dr. Seuss
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Het, Incest, Music, Parent/Child Incest, Redemption, Sex, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tentaculiferous/pseuds/Tentaculiferous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Once-ler is determined to keep his mother's love, whatever it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No one sings like you anymore

Once-ler's love of spontaneous singing and all things musical had not just come from nowhere. 

Far too long ago, his mother had sung to him. Songs, some of them silly standard nursery fare, others the most popular hits of the time. He suspected he had probably been listening to them before he had even been born. Certainly some of his earliest memories were of his mother's voice, drifting syrup-sweetly throughout the house in some meaningless lyric. 

There was no singing now. They lay silently, coldly beneath the smooth silky sheets of the enormous bed that was dwarfed by the enormous, elegant room that contained it. The air outside of their home was undoubtedly hot, thick and heavy with smogulous smoke, gritty and dirty. The air inside was chilly and artificially clean, the air conditioners working overtime. 

Whatever Once-ler had sought to find in this room, he hadn't found it. He had headed up here after dinner. 

He usually skipped it, preferring to have food sent up to the office, where he spent most of his time. Despite his family discovering a new found affection for him, the reverse hadn't happened. He was no more fond of Chet, Brett, Aunt Grizelda and Uncle Ubb, than he had ever been. Their company was more of a tedious chore to be borne with as much grace as possible. Now, his mother on the other hand... he could not seem to get enough time with her. Unlike the rest of the family, with their false, slavish respect that Once-ler was disgusted to see, it was a relief to be around someone who genuinely loved him and cared for him. 

He didn't know where he'd gone wrong all those years ago, what he had did to lose that only source of affection and respect that he had so treasured as a child, but he would never cease being grateful that he had the chance to redeem himself and gain it back. 

But he never really knew if he had truly gained it back, entirely How could he know that she loved him above all others? He had to be everything to her, as she was everything to him.

And so after the end of the tedious dinner, he had followed her up the winding paneled staircase, saying nothing as she ducked in through the knotty truffula-wood doors into her bathroom. He headed into her bedroom to lie in wait. 

It was dark inside the room, but some hazy light streamed in through the gauzy curtains as well as peeking in from the louvred inner door to the bathroom. The view of the striped mauve-and-cream wallpaper was obstructed only by luxurious furniture and gilded mirrors; there are no photos of Once-ler or his brothers on those walls.

* * *

When she comes into the room, her curls are down. Straight and wet and sticking to her shoulders, her hair is the first thing Once-ler notices. It makes her look a lot younger, or perhaps it just reminds him of a younger her, when she was too busy taking care of her children to bother with trying to make the most of her looks. She looked better then. 

Once-ler could see her little bow laying on the bathroom counter, and next to it... a pair of black glasses. That is why she has not yet remarked on his presence; she hasn't noticed him. Instead, he gets a rare look at what his mother is like when she thinks she's alone. The air of sharp confidence is there, but some restraining force that usually holds it back somewhat is absent. Her walk is different; her face totally relaxed and her stride powerful as she heads to the cherry chest of drawers, to begin throwing fresh clothes out onto the bed. 

Her back is beautiful to him, towel thrown aside to reveal curves and lines that represent one side of the only person to do good in his life, the only person to ever love him. They are both young and beautiful, her slim fleshy sensuality the perfect complement to his own; why would he ever want another woman in his life? Who could compare to her? 

And he is no monk. 

Suddenly, a task that seemed impossible, an absurdity, becomes a very tangibly real and desirable destined outcome. The Once-ler relaxes, and at the same becomes filled with purpose. While his wish is to wrap his arms around that slim figure from behind, he knows the realistic outcome of a such a move; it would scare the living bejeesus out of anyone.

Might as well start things now, so he doesn't have to bother getting her out of her clothes. 

He simply sits up and begins unlacing his boots. The movement is enough to catch her eye, even without the aid of glasses. She is, of course, startled. 

“Lord, Oncie, you scared the bejeebus out of me.” 

She begins searching for the dropped towel, grabbing it quickly and covering up what was quite a magnificent view, in Once-ler's opinion. 

“I just wanted to see you.” he says, honest but omitting much. 

Kicking his boots under the bed, he strides softly on sock-covered feet towards her. He passes over the wet foot-prints she left earlier with her bare feet, dampening the bottoms of his socks, but he doesn't even care, because he won't have them on for long. Who has sex with their socks on, after all? 

He is no master of seduction, but then, he doesn't need to be. Never mind the maneuvers, go straight at 'em. He doesn't waste time with words, or with subtlety. He simply hooks one hand around her waist and pulls her close to him, kissing her, and feeling her respond correctly against him. 

He knows on some level that this is unfair, that it proves nothing. She will put up with anything, react any way he likes, for that holy dollar he commands. 

Once-ler's mother is eager to do what is wanted, but what is wanted, how far this is to go, is something she has not yet been clued into. Is this a kiss, is this a test? Her fingers on his coat lapels are wonderfully unsure, tentative as she undoes the shining buttons. 

Soon he is on her, possessing that body that he loves, since he cannot ever possess that mercurial mind he loves, or that shifting self-centered heart. In the end he has cheated himself. What he set out to gain here he could never achieved, and yet he duped himself into believing, like a child, that he could somehow win out, triumph over the impossible in the end. 

And he has further degraded her that he loved above all else, adding one more societal sin to the list of wrongs she would do for money, for a greed so pure and simple that it is almost moral. 

Afterwards, Once-ler craves a cigar. Not out of post-coital satisfaction, but rather to soothe the case of nerves and depression creeping up on him. 

“Well, at least you're not gay.” she says, finally.

“What?! You thought I was gay?” 

“Well Oncie, what do you expect a mamma to think when her boy wears pink, knits, and sings like an angel?” 

Once-ler doesn't know what to say to that, so he stays silent. He has told his mother how manly of an occupation knitting is many times before, and every time she has just sighed sadly and shaken her head. 

He just lays there, overwhelmed by the futility and stupidity of his actions, of his desires, of his life. 

And then, to his surprise, she begins singing.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Oncie and his mama. I am of the opinion she must've been nice once.


End file.
